No Chains Shall Sully Thee
by Warpath Grizzly
Summary: Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery!  1950: Germany visits Canada to accept unconditional surrender, ending the war once and for all. It's a shame he'll never get it from the nation himself.


**No Chains Shall Sully Thee**

By Blaklite

**Note** that this fic is inspired by a song, and this song is pretty relevant to the story. If you've never heard it, I suggest looking up The Minstrel Boy by Joe Strummer (since this is the version I first heard, thank you Black Hawk Down) on youtube or whatever site there exists for such things.

-{ * }-

He'd done it. After three vicious years of fighting, he'd finally done it. Canada had fallen, just as France had a decade ago, and England six years after that. Russia had posed a bit of a problem, but after Japan was able to defeat China, the pair of them (with reluctant help from Italy) had finally been able to box in the abomination that was communism. Military discipline kept Germany from smiling as he marched up Rideau St. and across the Plaza Bridge with a small contingent of soldiers behind him, more for show than for protection. He needed no protection, not now that the last of his enemies had been brought down.

Ludwig admitted that at one point he had doubted this would have been possible. England had put up a good resistance, and he hadn't expected such vicious retaliation from Russia. What he had feared most of all, however, was the possibility of America entering the war, that strong yet distant figure in the background of the world stage. Luckily, the Americans had decided to remain isolationists after all, a neutral force his boss likely wouldn't attack unless he saw greater value in its abolition. But there was much more to be gained from America's freedom, for now anyways.

One by one, they'd fallen. Eventually it came to the point where the English had had no choice but to give up, lacking supplies and munitions and hope. Russia's and China's cannon fodder could not hold up against his and Japan's trained armies. The Commonwealth had pledge to continue fighting even after Mother Britannia's fall. Australia and New Zealand were quickly dispatched by Japan, India, though pockets of resistance continued to be fight, had mostly been occupied by Japan as well, and South Africa had been, oddly enough, taken care of by Italy.

And then there had been Canada. Getting across the Atlantic Ocean had provided a bit of a challenge, as had been the invasion by sea. The east coast had been well fortified, but it hadn't been perfect. The unfortunate thing about Canada for the Canadians is that there is too much land to defend, and far too much coastline to keep an eye on. The German troops had come down from the north after destroying the fortifications there, just as Japan broke through on the west coast. They'd fought their way south through forests and across rivers, encountering ambushes by soldiers and militiamen alike. It had been a long and bloody campaign, but at long last, Germany had conquered.

And now he was marching up to Parliament Hill to accept Canada's surrender, soon to be accompanied by his great generals and the Führer himself. A perfect way to end the war.

Well, not _exactly_ perfect. Arthur was nowhere to be found. Ludwig had wanted the Englishman present if anything to flaunt his power; to show the stuck up Brit that his delusions of Empire were now over, and to show the proud Canadian what had become of his mentor and father. But no, the German couldn't have that because Arthur had simply disappeared. When Ludwig had sent one of his assistants to go collect England from his room (they were both staying at the Chateau Laurier since Germany's top officials also had rooms there, and Ludwig wanted the Brit somewhere where he could keep an eye on him), the spectacled man had returned empty handed. Odd, since the room was guarded 24/7 to keep such an escape from happening. But he had been in a hurry, and had left after calling for a small search party to find the missing nation.

Pushing the mystery from his thoughts, all the while making a mental note of finding and punishing Arthur later for his disobedience, Ludwig mechanically marched on. He glanced about at the windows of the buildings to his left. The people were not permitted to walk along this section of Wellington and were kept out by a blockade of German soldiers. However, they could still peer out from behind glass, dozens of spiteful gazes watching the procession with cold hatred.

Despite himself, Germany couldn't help but shiver slightly. Since the Great War, he had lived in fear of the Canadians, and their capabilities. He had seen them leap out of the muddy trenches, and charge straight into enemy fire, never stopping or slowing, fearless devils challenging death with every footstep. He had experienced a Night Raid, whereby he witnessed one of his soldiers be skewered to death on the prongs of a pitchfork, wielded by one of those northern demons. He had watched those aerial dogfights over London from afar, and had counted himself lucky he wasn't up there himself. And now here he was, an unwelcome guest in their homeland.

Turning through the open gate, Ludwig and his troops began the last stretch of the trip. Down the long driveway they marched, towards those large wooden doors, but more importantly towards the line of politicians facing them in their tailored suits, two-hundred and forty three men and two women. All eyes were on him, and Ludwig felt terribly exposed in so open a space. Reminding himself that he had already won and was here to accept a surrender, Germany continued up to the politicians as his men hung back in formation.

Unable to spot a certain blond, the German stopped and faced the Rt. Hon. William Lyon Mackenzie King as Canada's tenth and last Prime Minister separated himself from his colleagues to address the tall nation.

"Where is Canada?" Germany demanded in accented English.

"Matthew Williams will not be present today, or any day hereafter," replied King, cold as winter's chill, his gaze like steel.

Furrowing his brow, Germany was about to ask what this meant when the sound of music met his ears. It was distant and therefore muffled, but in the stillness that hung over the grounds it was impossible to ignore. Motioning for the German to follow, Prime Minister King turned and began to walk calmly towards the back of the Centre Block. The further away they got, the clearer the notes became. Someone was singing, but Ludwig still couldn't make out any words.

Stopping at the edge of the surrounding cliffs which plunged down into the chilly waters of the Ottawa River, King looked down at the rocky strip of shoreline below, and mumbled, "If I lose myself, I save myself." Ludwig followed that gaze and spotted what King was looking at: a blond dressed in a German uniform kneeling on the rocks and clutching another blond bathed in red.

Forgetting appearances and principles, Ludwig jumped down into the brush and began barrelling his way down the side of the cliff towards the pair. As he got closer, so the singing became louder. It was Arthur's voice, he could tell this now, as he could clearly pick out the melody, though he didn't recognize it. It was mournful, that much was certain, and yet it resembled somewhat of a war tune.

He almost reached them when the words started to drift into his ears.

"_-thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee!_"

Crashing out of the trees, the German had managed to spook the Brit so that he stopped his song. Whirling his head around, the Englishman spotted the slightly breathless German and glared, green eyes red from crying meeting stunned blue. In his arms rested the drenched body of Canada, pale-faced and motionless. In cold, dead fingers was clenched the Red Ensign, Union Jack splayed over a lifeless heart.

Still glaring at the intruder of this private moment, Arthur began to sing once more, his words directed at the German. "_The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under-_" Closing his eyes, the Brit let a few tears slide down salt-streaked cheeks before continuing.

"_The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder-_" It appeared to take quite some effort on his part for England to open those watery globes again. When he did, he gazed down at his still son and gently stroked a pale cheek. The Canadian's features were calm, his face peaceful, and a small smile tugged at blue lips.

"_And said "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the pure and free They shall never sound in slavery!_"

His song over, Arthur broke down into sobs, Ludwig hanging back and simply observing the pair, acutely aware of the loss of a young and brilliant life from the world forever. From up on top of the hill, the cheering of German soldiers could be heard. The war was over.

-{ * }-

A Note From Blaklite: So in case you are confused, this is a history AU where America never joins WWII and basically the world is taken over by Germany and Japan (and Italy, but you know not really). It occurs around 1950. Canada is the last stronghold of democracy pretty much, I figure since it would be relatively difficult to attack us considering both Germany and Japan have to cross oceans just to get here (if Japan were to cross over into Alaska, that would be infringing on U.S. territory, and they don't particularly want to anger that sleeping giant).

There are a lot of possible notes I could put here, but I'm going to resist because if I do this fic would be twice as long just from historical notes and explanations, so I'll just got over two things. One, the song is, as stated above, The Minstrel Boy, an Irish song by Thomas Moore that came about as homage to the Irishmen that died during the Irish Rebellion of 1798, but became popular during the American Civil War. Irish-Canadians are a recognizable enough group here, and I myself am Irish-Canadian, and it's a nice song, so there you go. Second, most if not all of you don't understand Mackenzie King's quote "If I lose myself, I save myself." This is actually a fairly long personally story of King's where a friend of his had reportedly said the quote before jumping into the Rideau Canal to save someone (they both died incidentally). The quote was originally said by Sir Galahad of Arthurian legend; King and his friend, Henry Albert Harper, had shared a love of Arthurian legend and Alfred, Lord Tennyson and all that poetry schmuck. Also Matt drowns himself in a river, so I hope you see now the logic behind my use of the quote.

So, please review and ask questions if you don't understand something in the story, aaaaaaaand I'll see everyone around if I should ever emerge from my hermit cave again.


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